


Tindómë

by Marie_L



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Angst, Avari, Background Thranduil/Thranduil's wife, F/F, Femslash, Immortality, Mentions of Tauriel and Legolas, Philosophy, Wood-elves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-20 23:12:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2446607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marie_L/pseuds/Marie_L
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When an elf begins to fade, she can turn to the west ... or the east</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tindómë

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elleth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elleth/gifts).



> Set about a century or so before the events of The Hobbit.

**tindómë,** noun. "Starry twilight, starlit dusk, usually of the time near dawn, not near evening"

 _\--_ _Quettaparma Quenyallo_

 

Elenath strolled in mediation through the moon garden as she tended to do, night after an endless numbers of nights. _Serenity. Control. Strength._ Sometimes she echoed words as mantras, to keep her mind from drifting into melancholy. It was spring in the current cycle, near full moon, and the garden was filled with effervescent blooms eager to drink in the light. Shimmering _s_ _inyë_ flies flittered in amongst the eventide jasmine trumpets, lustrous silver orchid-cacti and pink-striped flame lilies brought west by some adoring Silvan from the ancient lands. The moon garden was an island of ephemeral wonders, living reminders of more joyful eras. The queen paused by the lilies of course, for that is where her young friend preferred to meet, even though she disliked the dark. Never say the Avari were not sentimental.

The queen didn't know if Aranya was really Avari or not. It wasn't a topic one could politely inquire about, not even in the six hundred years Elenath had known her. Her hair, like her daughter Tauriel's hair, was that exotic fiery red; her name one of the ancient ones. She spoke often of the land of her birth with a wistful fondness, and of her family and her mate, tragically cut down by orcs only two hundred years after bonding. Mere children by Elenath's standards. That wild area of Rhûn was known for the mingling of the Teleri and Avari, wandering bands in the dark forests, to the point one could not tell where one people ended and the other began. Perhaps she should not rebuke it, for many of the noble Sindar that had accompanied Oropher from Doriath all those centuries ago had intermarried with the Silvan, and even her own son was hardly distinguishable from a wood-elf. Doriath was destroyed, all of Beleriand was drowned, even the lovely Greenwood they had chosen as their new home was dead, slowly polluted into the malevolent Mirkwood.

Waiting for Aranya as she did every night, Elenath spread her long skirts out and lowered herself to the spongy earth underneath a gnarled apple tree. Its pink blossoms drifted down like snow in the moonlight, and she dug her fingers into the soil as if to absorb its vitality through her skin. It was only at such moments, in such small acts, that she still felt part of Arda. The whispers of the ocean grew stronger with each moon, and soon -- a few annual cycles at most -- she would no longer be able to resist its call. Not a terrible fate in and of itself, but she dreaded the parting. Thranduil would never leave, she knew. He would lock himself away from the sun forever, stubbornly fixated on this one location until his _rhaw_ faded to a formless spirit of the woods. She had seen his doom millennia ago, when Oropher had died and Thranduil had been forced to take the mantle. His _fae_ would not -- could not -- recover from the blow.

Even more problematic for the prospect of journeying to Aman was her son. Legolas would insist on accompanying Elenath to the port at the Grey Havens, to ensure her safe passage across all of those dangerous lands, and if he saw the sea he too would leave Endor forever. She sensed the urge unawakened just below the surface of his mind, like a bubble waiting for the slightest provocation to be popped, although he was as yet unaware of it. But Elenath also knew Legolas was destined for some other purpose before he could gaze upon that great expanse, some preordained vocation that neither of them could yet foresee.

The final reason she did not commit to that final journey, of course, was the person she was waiting for that night, and would wait for every night. Her most devoted companion, and the most passionate defender of remaining in this weary land.

She heard a slight crunching over the ground as her friend approached, and pushed all unsettling thoughts from her mind. Aranya could arrive as silently as any elf, but she preferred to be careless, sink into the earth as it may. Even quiet decorum was an unnecessary cleft from Arda as far as Aranya was concerned. Her youthful indifference, an almost childlike immersion in her body and the pleasures of the animals and the woods, was the primary attraction to meeting her night after starlit night.

"Elenath!" She made a small bow, her only concession to Elenath's station. She had never referred to her as "queen" that Elenath could recall, something else that she loved about Aranya.

"Come, Aranya, sit next to me." The younger _edhel_ nimbly posed herself down on the ground next to the trunk, relaxing against Elenath in affection. She was still wearing her simple green leathers from the stables, her current occupation caring for the few horses Thranduil maintained. Riding was not the preferred method of traveling through Mirkwood, considering the claustrophobic nature of the forest surrounding their kingdom. Nevertheless there were always cases of distant traveling where the intelligent animals' presence was preferred.

Her hair, though, was as usual a messy collection of tiny frizzy braids looped together. It would gleam sunset orange if she would only _brush_ it occasionally. Nothing made Aranya look more like a wild wood elf than her hair. Elenath resisted the urge, for probably the thousandth time, to reach out and smooth down the escapees, or even more inappropriately, undo the braids run her fingers through it to detangle. But she merely said, "Your hair is unusually unkempt today, Aranya."

She placed a hand on top of her head as if she was just now informed of its presence. Then shrugged, and launched into a narration of her daily activities. "I rode that new filly again today, a beautifully spirited creature. Rohirrim stock they say. She needs to get out more than our meadowlands allow."

"The evil wood encroaches right up to the border, so unfortunately she will need to stay within them. Unless it is your intention to ride to Esgaroth?"

Aranya grinned. "Well ... someday. I'm sure my dear serious Tauriel will frown and worry about her spiders on a mere twenty league ride. But I was hoping to convince you to come riding with me, so perhaps we should keep it to the meadow. Come out into the sun, Elenath."

"I sleep during the day, you know that. Although perhaps I can make an exception this time."

"You cannot stay in the twilight forever, Elenath.. The evil grows; it is a time for action, not wasting away in slumber."

Their old argument. Their only argument. Who were the Avari to talk of _action_ in the marred world? Where were they when the Sindar and the Noldor and the long-departed Vanyar gave up their bodies to fight Arda's corruption? And now that most of the Eldar wished only for peace and comfort, the Avari sneered about _stasis_ and inaction?

"I do not have the strength to fight anymore, dear Aranya," was all she said. "I've seen the same cycle of evil and hard-won triumph, over and over again, and I will not be witness to yet another round."

Aranya was silent for a moment, and Elenath willed her to speak on something, _anything_ else. She wanted to hear about the horses, or the gossip from other volunteers in the stables, or of any manner of bursting flowers enlivening the spring meadow. Anything to bring her back into contact with the verdant world. Aranya seemed to sense her need, and reached up to run her rough fingers along Elenath's cheek.

"Are you going to leave me? Is that what the foresight tells you?"

 _Foresight._ Aranya often claimed she was some sort of prophetess, although Elenath simply thought it was close observation of individuals, leading to excellent instincts. Either way, she was usually right on matters of fate. "One doesn't need mystical powers to know my future. But I'm not leaving today ... someday, as you say."

"Someday," murmured Aranya. "What will you do, my dear Elenath, if I leave first?"

The queen felt an old foe rise at the prospect of the devastating loss such an alternation of her world would bring: Terror. For if Aranya did indeed leave the woodland realm, the grief would be intolerable. Elenath turned and interclasped their fingers together, to elicit some small comfort. "You're not just going to Esgaroth," she stated, equally quietly, trying to squelch her fear and even anger.

"No. Just as you do not have the strength to fight, I do not have the strength to rest any longer. I cannot sit in this ossified kingdom and do nothing while the rest of Endor burns. You what is coming; you've portended it on many occasions. And yet you also know the king will do nothing. We will all sit here like living statues, mere shadow memories of the greater people that came before. Does that not fill you with lament?"

She squeezed the fingers with one hand and dug into the soil with the other. _Strength._ _Serenity._ _Control._ "Do you have any idea, young one, how many times Melkor has risen up? It cannot die! The mountains crumble, the seas rise up, a hundred generations of men live and die, and still its foulness will infect ever corner and every mind. Why do you wish to fight a hopeless cause? _It can never be defeated!_ The only option is to leave, that imperfect escape to Aman."

"My mother had a saying: 'You are not required to complete the work, but neither are you free to desist from it.' We believe it is our duty to stay, even if the world seems irreparable."

Elenath was struck with impetuousness on that extraordinary night. "And who is 'we'?" she asked, without thinking it through. _Control. Strength. Serenity._

"You know who. The ones you never talk about, that you abandoned long ago."

"Why did you come here, Aranya, you and your husband?" Long ago indeed, and not so long. How the centuries blurred together. "Why did you choose to have a child here, in this uncertain time and dangerous place, knowing full well the grief that could occur?"

"In the east we have our own soothsayers, you know. It is well known that the Eldar are fading, and the men that you so successfully sheltered in ages past are greatly diminished as well. We came to render aid in the great challenge arising before us. But it seems we chose poorly, for this place will not be a locus of last resistance."

"Do you know what the fate of the Avari will be? I have seen it, and I'm sure your 'soothsayers' have as well. You are doomed to burn through your bodies until nothing but raw spirit remains, a mere flicker of the fire that once existed, completely impotent of the _action_ you hold so dear. Just like my husband," she said, laughing bitterly. "He's one of you, now, in a strange way. He'll never turn away from his rigid path, unto the bitterest end. A terrible destiny I do not intend to partake in."

"Then don't. There is another option." Aranya brought the cool fingers to her lips. "Come with me. I know some part of you wants to live, Elenath. You want connect with the Arda and its people. Restore a new forest and defeat Melkor one tree at a time. Feel _alive,_ with a purpose."

Elenath laughed again at the notion, so earnestly delivered. _"That's_ your other option? Become a warrior, fight, get slain and go to Mandos? It does not seem to be a solution to increase peace and tranquility." _Serenity. Strength._

"There are other ways to fight than becoming warriors. We are not our children." That elicited another smile, more kindly. "The world needs healers just as much as it needs warriors. Perhaps more so, although the fight will come in its time. But ..." She hesitated, her voice lowered to nervous tenderness. "...I have a more personal -- perhaps selfish -- reason for asking. I do not want to be alone."

Aranya kissed her hand again, the leaned forward. With a flash of foresight Elenath knew what she was about to do and let her drift into it, relishing it like nothing else in an age. It was everything she loved about Aranya, her earthiness, her impulsiveness, both her celebration of bodily pleasures and utter indifference to appearances at the same time. Elenath reached out and sank her fingers into her hair, just as she had the soil moments earlier, letting all those eccentric braids twist down her hand. The kiss was so gentle it felt like a breeze, almost a breath. _Alive._

"Please come with me," Aranya whispered. "Come to see wonder and joy again, and sorrow, and laughter. If you are still weary, you can always journey back to the west. Aman will always be there, but as the humans say, you only live in Middle Earth once."

Still holding her hair, the soft crook of her neck, Elenath could feel the pull both ways. The call of the land where no one ever birthed or died, and the call of something unheard of, something new. The sea still sang to her, but absent the Straight Road, didn't the sea wrap around to the other side?

_Strength. Comfort. Live. Love._


End file.
